


And The Bells Were Ringing Out

by shewhoguards



Category: Fairytale of New York
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/pseuds/shewhoguards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A broken fairytale, seen through the eyes of one of the NYPD choir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Bells Were Ringing Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulgarweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/gifts).



It was Peter’s first Christmas in New York. It could be lonely there, sad to spend Christmas in the big city on his own, but he’d not had time to meet anyone yet and he couldn’t afford the journey home. He might have tried it, but his mother had said no. It wasn’t worth it, she said, not for the few days he’d get off for Christmas. Besides, the station might need him.

So, he’d joined the choir instead. He’d been good at singing as a boy – been in the church choir even – and it was company, and something to do that wasn’t sitting at home thinking about how lonely he was. And you could people-watch, as he was now. Sometimes watching other people’s happiness could put joy into your own heart, especially a young couple like these two.

The pair were truly filled with the magic of Christmas. The woman – girl, really, she couldn’t have been much older than eighteen – positively overflowed with it, laughing and turning, desperate to take the world in. Her hair, jammed tight against her head with a woollen hat, kept escaping and flying free. Her dark curls were spotted with snowflakes, her cheeks pink with the chill. The boy stared at her with pure adoration, clinging to her hand as though she were a balloon that might take off and fly away without him.

Peter caught scraps of conversation as they passed, the girl chattering away excitably.

“I’m going to be famous,” she said confidently. “This is it – this is where people _go_ to make it big. I’m going to be _someone._ And you..”

“Yes?” said the boy, voice amused and hopeful at once, as though her saying it could make it true. “What will I be?”

“I don’t know yet. But something special, whatever it is.”

Peter smiled to himself, and sang a little louder just for them. It seemed that dreams like these were what New York was made of.

***

A few years later, and he didn’t need the choir for company, not any more. Maisie was waiting for him, anxious for him to get home, but it was tradition by now. You couldn’t let the choir down – they only asked for these few hours on Christmas Eve. They’d sing a little more, shivering in the biting New York wind, and then be off home to their families.

He didn’t recognise the couple at first. They were both thinner, grimmer, their faces harder. The woman’s hair had been cut – no more flyaway curls – and they didn’t hold hands any more. They didn’t smile at each other any more either. They hurried past, not pausing to listen to the music of the choir, lost in their own private argument.

“It was only one night locked up, babe!” he heard the man plead. “I just had a couple of drinks is all – the police are out to get me is what it is. Will you not listen to me? It’s been a bad year, I know that, but this year will get better, I just feel it.”

For a moment it seemed the woman was disinclined to listen but she paused and looked back over her shoulder, hesitating. Grateful, the man hurried after her, catching her up in his arms, pulling her close.

“Just give me another chance, babe, that’s all. You’ll see, this is going to be our year.”

Peter relaxed, watching as they walked away together. He couldn’t have said why those two were important to him – perhaps they were simply too linked to his first Christmas for him to want that memory of sweet young perfection to be broken. For now, at least, they would be all right.

***

The children were old enough now to come along and see him sing. Peter could see them in the crowd, muffled up so tightly that their eyes were scarcely visible, clutching tightly to Maisie’s hands.

He was too focused on them to notice the couple at first. Only the disapproving murmurs in the crowd gave it away, and then a space opened up around the two – a staggering old drunk and his shrill screaming wife.

Could this be the couple he had admired less than a decade ago? Surely this pair were far too old, their faces lined with the hardship of years. But Peter could see familiarity there, and the curls threaded with white told a tale he didn’t want to hear.

They seemed oblivious to the glares and mutters of outrage around them, their full attention on each other. Parents hurried their children away, covering small ears as the two voices cast ever-worsening curses at each other.

“You scumbag! Couldn’t even go Christmas without drinking our fucking wages away, could you? And then you don’t even have the guts to tell me, but let me find out when I go to pay.”

“Yeah, well, I needed the drink, didn’t I? Made it easier to come home to your ugly fucking face!” the man retorted, his voice cracking. The woman turned away in revulsion, and he seemed to relent. “Aw, come on, sweetheart, it was just a joke. I’ll get the money back, I swear.”

He reached for her, and she gave him an angry push, sending him stumbling towards the choir. Peter wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale alcohol and unwashed human.

The man regained his balance, looking angry, his fists clenched. The crowds murmuring became alarmed, though nobody seemed quite prepared to step in. A couple of his on-duty workmates ambled over, taking a slightly more active interest in proceedings.

But it was over as quickly as it was begun. The woman spat one final insult and was away, marching off through the crowd. The man stared after her, shoulders sagging, fury turning quickly to rejection. Despite his disgust, Peter felt his heart break a little for him.

 _Go after her,_ he willed. _Clean yourself up. Be a better man._

It wasn’t to be, at least not today. The man stood dejectedly for a moment or two and then ambled away, towards the nearest pub. The crowd drew back together, attention on the choir, diversion forgotten.

Peter sighed, the magic of Christmas tarnished for a moment, drooping a little. His eyes travelled the crowd and found Maisie, the two children still clutching at her hands. She smiled at him, and he felt the moment’s depression lift. Reassured, he stood a little straighter and sang out strongly.

Not all fairytales end happily, not in New York. It didn’t mean theirs wouldn’t.

 _The boys of the NYPD choir  
Were singing "Galway Bay"  
And the bells were ringing out  
For Christmas day_

 


End file.
